The Sire Chronicles
by kristyn77
Summary: Tells the life story of Darla, Angel, Spike and Drusilla before and after they became vampires
1. Venture Forth Into A New World

The Sire Chronicles-Chapter One-Darla  
  
I do not own the characters in this story. They belong solely to Joss Whedon, the incredible genius who created them.  
  
Note: Because Darla's real name was never established (the master named her Darla some hundred years after he turned her) I had to make up a human name for Darla. She will be known as Rebekah Miller. If anyone knows her true name, (I don't think it was ever established) please let me know and I will gladly change it.  
  
1597  
  
"Mum," the young girl cried. "I'm scared."  
  
"Hush, darling," the older lady replied, soothing back the golden curls that were cascading around the young girl's face. "It'll be alright, my child."  
  
The young girl gripped her mother tightly around the waste, and whimpered as the large boat rocked back and forth. Huge swells hit the mast, causing the small room to shake violently. The wind howled against the windows, causing a loud clacking noise to engulf the otherwise silent cabin.  
  
"How much longer until we get there?" the young girl whispered.  
  
"We shall be there soon enough, Rebekah. Don't you worry."  
  
~*~  
  
"Captain Marks."  
  
Quickly turning around, John Marks looked at the young deck hand approaching him. "Do you have news?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, sir. It happened again. We found another person drained of all fluids. Just like the last one," he answered.  
  
"Did you discard the remains?" the captain asked, his face stern.  
  
"No sir, we did not want to alarm anyone. We will do so at sundown."  
  
"Okay, that is all. You may return to your post, lieutenant." John watched as the young man saluted quickly and walked away.  
  
"What the devil is going on," John muttered to himself. For the last week at sea, a mysterious ailment was silently killing his passengers. They all seemed to have the same symptoms: two small puncture holes in their neck, and a loss of bodily fluids. It almost seemed as if they had been drained, but the captain could think of no disease that presented such an etiology.  
  
As if that was his only concern, John Marks also had to worry about the worsening weather. He had made this journey across the Atlantic Ocean many times, but never had he approached such a torrential storm. His boat carried over a hundred passengers, all bound for the new world, to start a new life. The burden and responsibility to get them there safely was eating away at him, what with the sudden onslaught of disease, and the approaching storm.  
  
He sighed deeply as he looked out into the vast ocean. If he could manage to get his boat through tonight, he felt like he would be able to complete his voyage safely. His instincts told him that the weather would clear after he passed through the heart of the storm.  
  
~*~  
  
"Daddy," Rebekah cried. "Daddy you're back." The little girl tore out of her mother's embrace and into the comfort of her father's arms. She buried her small face into his shirt and sobbed quietly.  
  
"I'm here, my princess," he cooed in her ear, rocking her back and forth in his arms. "There is no need to be scared, my sweet." He cupped her small face in his hands, "You're daddy's brave little lass, are you not?"  
  
"I try to be, daddy," she said. "The loud thunder hurts my ears, and the boat keeps rocking and rocking like it's going to tip over." She held tightly onto his hands, her small fingers entwining his. "I can't swim, daddy. The boat is going to roll over, and I can't swim." Tears emerged from her pleading blue eyes, wetting her face.  
  
"Shhhhh, my sweet girl. The boat will not tip," he said, wiping her face with his fingers. "I will not let it, I promise you." He picked her up in his arms and laid her gently down on the cot. "Now you go to sleep, and it will all be better in the morning."  
  
Rebekah closed her small eyes, and tried to block out the howling wind. She whimpered when she saw her father wrap his coat tightly around his shoulders and venture back out into the storm. She wished that they had never made this trip. Her daddy had told her they were going to a new world, where he would have his own land to work. She didn't want to go to the new world, she liked living in London. Her play friends were there, and her Grandmother Elizabeth. Her eight-year-old mind could not comprehend her family's situation.  
  
~*~  
  
Charles Miller had spent his entire life working in the small village of Northumberland. His wife, Margaret Wenham, had also grown up in the same town. He fell in love with her instantly, and they were married. Two months after their vows, Margaret became one with child. Rebekah Elizabeth Miller was born nine months later, and she became the pride and joy of her parents.  
  
Seven years later, a wave of plague struck the small town. The village was decimated, with over half of its population dead. A thick smell of decay hung in the air, as the bodies of the sick rotted along the cobblestone streets. Charles was lucky, because the plague missed his home. Nevertheless, his blacksmith business was bankrupt, there was hardly anyone left to make weapons for. When the bill collectors seized everything he owned, he knew that his family was in trouble. His daughter was getting older, and his wife was pregnant. He needed to find a way to take care of his family. So when a offer to start again in the new world was presented to Charles' by the king's men, he accepted greedily, anxious for the chance to rebuild his business and support his family.  
  
Now, aboard the storm torn vessel, Charles questioned his decision to leave Northumberland. 


	2. A Little Girl's Worst Nightmare

Part Two-Darla  
  
The rain continued to pound against the vessel, and Rebekah found it hard to close her eyes. Despite the warmth of being so close to her mother, her thoughts stayed with her father. She did not like the idea of him being outside. Daddies were supposed to stay and keep their daughters safe, not venture out into the dark night where hurtful things lay.  
  
She whimpered softly as a loud crackle of thunder shook the small bed that held her mother. "Mum," she whispered, her voice shaking. She propped herself up on her elbows and peeked over at her sleeping mother, needing to see the comfort of her mother's honey colored eyes. Her voice shook as her lower lip stuck out and begin to tremble, "Mum, I'm scared."  
  
Rebekah grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her small body, trying to shield out the sounds of the shrieking winds that were pounding on the cabin. Another bolt of thunder echoed through the vessel, and Rebekah jumped off the bed, scrambling for the corner of the room. She sat there, with her hands covering her ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of the storm.  
  
"I want my daddy," she whispered pulling her knees up to her chest. "I want my daddy, I want my daddy," she repeated, rocking herself.  
  
Lightning illuminated the room, and she jumped. The sound of footsteps greeted her ears, and she could vaguely make out the shadow of someone on the other side of the door. "Daddy," she cried out.  
  
She ripped off her blanket and ran to the door, crying out for her father. She struggled to wrestle the door from the hands of the wind, ignoring the cold air that swept through the cabin. Pushing it open with all of her strength, Rebekah walked out onto the deck, her small feet tiptoeing against the icy deck of the boat. "Daddy?" she called out.  
  
She walked along, shivering as the rain pelted against her skin. Her blonde curls sat limply against her scalp, dripping cold torrents of water down her face. She kept her eyes open, ignoring the burning sensation of the water in her eyes, and set out to find her father. "Daddy," she croaked.  
  
In the distance, she could make out the figure of two men talking, one of them looking very familiar to her. "Daddy's there," she smiled to herself. Suddenly, she could not feel the rain nor wind, only the sound of her father's voice. She felt a surge of happiness swell through her, with relief wiping out the last of her fears.  
  
*~*  
  
"What are you?" Charles backed away slowly, unsure if he was really seeing what was right in front of his eyes.  
  
The thing that stood in front of him laughed, as a slow smile spread on its face.  
  
"What are you?" Charles backed away slowly, confusion and fear etched on his face. In his entire life, he had never seen anything like what was standing in front of him.  
  
"What am I?" the thing asked, smiling broadly. "Are you prepared for what I am?"  
  
"You are something unholy, that is to be sure of."  
  
The thing laughed again, a loud throaty cackle that seemed to carry with the wind. The sound of its voice made Charles shiver, he was sure he was in the company of the devil itself.  
  
"Yes.Unholy, I am," the thing sang. "Unholy to the highest power." It walked closer to Charles, scraping its long nails against the railing of the boat. "Even the stars themselves hide when I come out."  
  
Charles backed into the railing of the vessel, feeling the cool metal grind up against the skin of his back. "What do you want?"  
  
The thing's face morphed, and smiled when it heard Charles' scream. "Why, I want to feed." It grabbed the man and tore into his neck, its fangs ripping through the meaty flesh. It sucked at the neck, gulping down the crimson fluid until there was nothing left for it to drink. Feeling sated, the creature removed its teeth from the man's neck, and carelessly threw the body over the railing.  
  
*~*  
  
Rebekah watched as the creature pushed her father over the boat railing, and screamed. "Daddy!" She ran over to the railing, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy!" she screamed again.  
  
"Well, well, well," it sang, its teeth still red from feeding, "what do we have here."  
  
Rebekah turned toward the thing, her eyes wide with terror. "Please," she whispered, "help my daddy."  
  
It touched her golden mane, it's palm sliding down to cup her pixie face. Rebekah shuddered at the feel of its rough skin, but she willed her eyes open. Tiny drops of water escaped the corner of her eyelids as she stared into the face of the thing in front of her.  
  
"Aren't you a pretty little thing," the vampire hissed.  
  
Rebekah whined loudly as the thing grabbed her neck and held her up. She gasped, desperately trying to get air into her small lungs.  
  
The vampire brought her neck close to his mouth. "I could drink from you now, little one. Your skin smells of an innocence and purity that would melt in my mouth. But I sense you serve a greater purpose yet." He threw her down onto the deck, and smiled down at the crying little girl. "Your time has not yet come. But it will, it will. And when it does, the heavens themselves will scream." 


	3. Broken Down into Nothing

1608  
  
"Aye, what a pretty lass we've got here, boys," the man yelled, pulling the blonde into his arms.  
  
Rebekah grimaced in disgust, as she pushed the man's dirty arms off her body. "Do not touch me." She pulled herself away from him, trying to escape the horrific odor that radiated from his un-washed body.  
  
He grabbed her, harder this time, and pulled her struggling body up against his own. "I do not think someone in your profession should be turning down a paycheck, my dear," he whispered in her ear.  
  
His breath caused her to shudder, as the stink radiated from his rotten decaying teeth into her nose. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the feel of his rough arms wrapped tightly around her. She turned herself around, and looked into his lust filled eyes. "And exactly how much are you willing to pay me, kind sir?"  
  
Spittle flew out of the man's mouth as a guttural laugh escaped his lips. "Aye, this one is quite the businesswoman, boys!" he yelled to the crowd of drunken men. His lips curled up in a sneer, "What's a whore like you worth to me?" His eyes trailed up and down her body, "Pleasure me first, and then I will decide your pay."  
  
Rebekah pushed the man away, elbowing him swiftly in the gut. "Get your hands off me, I would rather starve than succumb to the likes of you." The drunken men laughed loudly as the man fell to the floor with a thud that shook the entire building.  
  
The man emitted a loud growl, and grabbed her ankles pulling her down to the floor alongside him. "Who do you think you are? You are a whore, and will do as I say, or starve." He pulled himself up, and kicked her swiftly in her sides, causing her to double over in pain. "Do not give me orders, whore," he yelled as he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the bar.  
  
She yelped, as she felt him yank at her scalp and drag her across the dirty floors of the saloon. A loud coughing fit filled the air as she desperately tried to take in breath. She covered her mouth with her hand, and cried, as small rivulets of blood flew from her mouth. "Please," she whispered, fear welling up inside her. "Please, stop. I'll do whatever you want."  
  
The man let go of her hair, and laughed as a clump of it fell on the floor. "Please," he bellowed. "The whore yells please." He laughed loudly to the patrons of the saloon, mimicking her plea. "Please me, you will," he croaked, kicking her in the head.  
  
She felt a sharp pain against her skull, as a dull throb that started in the center of her head soon spread to every nerve in her body. The pain lasted but a second, and then a strange sublime feeling overtook her, as she began to feel lightheaded. She could feel the man pick her up, feel the coldness upon her bare skin as he ripped away her garments, but everything after that was a blur. She drifted between different levels of unconsciousness aware, but unable to feel, as the man ravaged her broken body.  
  
~*~  
  
1609  
  
"Francis?" yelled the middle-aged woman, who sat knitting in a chair. "Francis, someone is knocking on the door. Would you check to see who is calling upon us?"  
  
A young boy, about the age of twelve, peeked his head around the corner. He was a big boy for his age, with a large tousle of golden hair and piercing blue eyes. His mother often told him that he was the mirror image of his late father, but he had no memories to cement that idea in his head, as his dad had died when he was still in his mother's womb. "Yes, mum," he mumbled, starting to go.  
  
She motioned him towards her, waving her well-manicured hands in the air. "Come here a second, boy."  
  
He walked over carefully, not wanting to shuffle his feet or waste time. He loved his mother dearly, she was all he had left since the argument, but he knew better than to anger her. Her wrath could make grown men cry, and he learned early in life to avoid upsetting her at all costs.  
  
She looked up at him, as she continued her needlework. "If they are here to beg from us, tell them I've not a note to spare."  
  
"Yes, mum." He answered again, leaving the room quickly, thankful to be away from her stern glare.  
  
He had been the recipient of that glare often in the past two years, ever since his mother and sister had fought. At the time, he didn't understand what had happened between the two, his mother refusing to give him explanations as to why his sister was no longer allowed in the house. Later, he had found out from the town folk that his mother had caught his sister sinning with a man, and being the deeply religious woman that she was, had disowned her. Since the departure of his only sibling, he watched his mother change. She seemed more withdrawn, and never smiled anymore. She yelled at him often now, finding faults with everything he did, but he loved her nonetheless. After all, he had no father, and now no sister. She was his family, and his entire world.  
  
The person on the other end of the door knocked harder this time, and startled him from his reverie. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, making time towards the door.  
  
~*~  
  
Rebekah wrapped her arms around her body, shivering in her soaked and torn dress. Her blonde hair hung limply against her head, matted and dirty from the grime of the streets. Barely unable to move, she mustered her strength and knocked lightly on the door, leaning against the house to keep her emaciated frame from falling into the mud. "Please, answer," she pleaded to the wooden door, moaning as a cool gust of wind tore through her. "Please."  
  
She heard the faint rustling of footsteps on the other side, as she knocked again. Her head began to pound and she felt the blood rush through her head, making her feel weak. The world began to spin; her eyelids fluttered rapidly, her breathing became shallow, and bright lights seemed to come out of the sky and burn through her eyes. She passed out and fell into the cold mud, never hearing her brother's scream as he finally managed to make his way to the door. 


	4. Pain In The Eyes of a Child

Part Four  
  
Rebekah wakened slowly the next morning, her eyes opening to greet the morning sun. Confusion and a feeling of grogginess overwhelmed her, as she looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. Her body felt strange, almost as if she didn't have full control of her limbs. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the deep fatigue that plagued her body.  
  
"I see your finally awake," a voice spoke from the corner.  
  
Rebekah turned her head to greet the familiar voice. "Frances?" The boy nodded his head. "What happened to me? Where am I?"  
  
Francis rose quietly from his chair, and sat at the edge of his sister's bed. "You are in a hospital, run by missionaries."  
  
"A hospital?"  
  
His face grew solemn as he looked up at his sister. "Yes, a hospital."  
  
"Where is Mother?" she asked, her voice full of hope. The reason she had gone home was to patch things up with her family; it hurt her to not have them in her life.  
  
"She didn't come."  
  
The news hit Rebekah like a ton of bricks, and for a second she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She forced herself to sit up in the bed, groaning in pain. "She didn't come?"  
  
"No," he answered, his voice full of sadness. "She.she.told me to take you here."  
  
Rebekah laughed, a deep throaty cackle with a harshness that bounced of the sterile walls. "She still looks upon me with scorn, does she?"  
  
Frances sighed, the hurt resonating off his soft features. "Aye, she does. I can not explain it."  
  
Rebekah's cheeks tinged with the color of anger as she pulled the blanket off her heavy body. "I can explain it." She held onto the sides of the bed as she pulled herself up slowly, ignoring the pain that spread through her sides. "She sees me as the spawn of Satan, himself. Piety and Chastity denounced me through their heavenly breath as being nothing but a thing of wickedness."  
  
"You should not be standing, dear sister." The boy got up and walked over to her, holding out his hands for support.  
  
"Tell me, Frances," she whispered, turning towards him. "Do you think I am wicked?"  
  
He looked back at her, his gaze unwavering. "It is not for me to judge you. Only God can do so."  
  
Rebekah flinched at his answer, and pulled away from him. "You do. You agree with her." He tried to grab her, to steady her, but she would not have it. "Do not touch me!" she yelled, her voice rising with anger. She walked over to the window, and looked outside.  
  
"I am worried about you, Rebekah."  
  
She continued to stare outside, rubbing her fingers in strange concentric circles against the glass of the window. "The glass is cold, like my heart," she whispered, as she turned around to face him. Her voice seemed to change as she spoke; it now took on a strange and eerie intonation. "Did she ever tell you why I was cast out? Why she disowned me and left me in the streets to die?"  
  
"No."  
  
Her expression changed, as a veil of sadness fell upon her features. "I loved him, Frances. He came to me, dancing and weaving his way into my heart, and my heart sang."  
  
"So, it is true?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, it is true." She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the look of disappointment etched on his face. "He came to me, and I was weak. I took him to my bed. I sinned. If I be impure, look to no other reason but love." She watched as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. "Why do you cry?"  
  
He wiped them away with the back of his palm. "Because," he whispered, his voice growing soft, "it is love that has murdered my dear sweet sister."  
  
"Are you mad?" she asked, her face full of shock. "How could you say such a thing? Am I not standing before you?" She glared at him, hurt emanating from her eyes.  
  
He walked over to her and took her hand into his own. "I am not mad." He led her back over to the bed and motioned her to sit. "Why do you think you passed out today? Why do you think you are here, in this hospital, at this very moment?"  
  
"I was weak, is all," she answered, looking over at her brother. She watched as he closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked back up at her, his eyes red with tears. "Frances, my ailment is just one of weakness, right?" Her voice shook, as an unsettling feeling welled up within the pit of her stomach.  
  
He shook his head, the tears flowing freely from his eyes. "No, Rebekah. Your body is not weak; it is dying. You are dying." 


	5. Death Becomes Her

I'm back, with another update. I'm really getting into this story, everything seems to be flowing. Thanks to everyone who is reading, let me know what you think.  
  
Disclaimer: This belongs to Joss, and no one but Joss. I wish it were mine, but unfortunately, I can't take the credit for such genius.  
  
Note: I wanted to stay true to the show, and how it showed Darla being sired, so the italicized dialogue is directly from the transcript of the Angel Episode "Darla"  
  
  
  
"Sweet little sparrow ,broken wing. Can't fly away, can no longer sing. Lives alone, all by herself, with shelter none. Waiting for thy death, that will not come."  
  
Rebekah awakened suddenly, as a strange voice flew in through the bedside window. Something was singing, its faint song rustling with the wind in the dark of night. She forced herself to sit up, and strained her ears. "Is someone there?" she whispered.  
  
It sang its reply back to her, its voice strange and eerie. "Sparrow does not know me, recognizes me naught; Delirium invades her every thought."  
  
Rebekah gasped, and scrambled off the bed, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. A strange dizziness welled up within her head, as she tried to block out the feelings of faintness that swept through her. "Who is there?" she yelled, her voice rising in a feverous pitch. She steadied herself so she could walk over to the window, and peered out into the dark night. "What do you want with me?"  
  
A dark figure immerged and stuck its face into the window. Rebekah screamed, jumping at the site of its visage. "What are you? What are you doing here?"  
  
It smiled at her, revealing its long fangs, and blood red lips. "You do not recognize me?"  
  
Rebekah backed away from the window, trying to rid her eyes of the site that lay before her. Death was here for her, waiting for her with his deadly kiss. "I do not understand what you are saying, you make no sense to me," she spoke, her voice shaking.  
  
It pressed its face up closer to the window; it's blood red eyes peering at her. "Ah, my child. We met long ago, yet you remember me not."  
  
She shook her head, "I remember no such thing, unless you are a creature from my nightmares."  
  
He laughed. "You were but a child of six or seven. A pretty little blond with the face of an angel." His eyes swept up and down her frame. "Who would have known you'd turn out the way you did." He clicked his teeth, and sighed. "Nothing but a common whore."  
  
She winced, and felt her head begin to spin again. She moved over to the bed, too weak to stand, and laid her head down against the cool sheet. "That I am," she answered, her voice barely audible. "You know what I am, yet I know not who you are."  
  
"I am death, black as night," it hissed. "I met you once, long ago, aboard a vessel."  
  
She cried out, as memories hidden deep within her pushed through the dark recesses and flooded her thoughts. The thing that had caused her father's death was standing before her, quite possible coming for her. She brought her arms underneath her emaciated frame and held onto the bedposts as she pulled herself up.  
  
"So weak, the little sparrow is," it chuckled.  
  
Rebekah tried to open her mouth to speak, but a hazy feeling shot through her limbs. "If you are death, come in and take me then," she whispered. "I no longer care." Her knees began to buckle underneath her, and she held out her arms to try to steady herself. A loud thud echoed through the room, as her body fell to the floor.  
  
~*~  
  
Rebekah woke up to find the bright sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. She looked up to find a flurry of people moving about the room. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid them of sleep. "What is going on?"  
  
"You are getting a treatment for your ailment," a veiled sister replied, as she held out a tray for the man that was standing above her.  
  
Rebekah watched as the man grabbed something from the tray and lowered it onto her chest. The greenish brown object felt cool to her skin, and she immediately brought her hands up to knock it away. She stared at the thing in confusion, "Why does it not budge?"  
  
"Leeches," the nun replied. "They are drinking the wickedness from your blood so you may die with less of the devil inside you."  
  
"I have no devil within me," Rebekah cried, as the faint sucking sounds of the thing that lay against her breast rang in her ears.  
  
"Aye, that is not what the good book says. You have syphilis, young one. Only those who are impure and unchaste come down with such an infliction."  
  
Rebekah closed her eyes, the bright sunlight burning through her eyelids. She looked back up at the nun and motioned to the window. "Someone close the shutters. Seems wrong that I should die while the sun is still so bright."  
  
"You'll not see the sunlight again. Before it sets, you will have left this life."  
  
Rebekah lifted her head and glanced at the robed man standing at the door. "Who invited him here?" she asked. "I didn't ask for a priest."  
  
"You did. You cried out for me last night in your delirium."  
  
"I don't remember." Her face wrinkled as she looked over at the priest. "Do you even know what I am?"  
  
The man walked through the door, his face still covered. "A woman of some property. No husband, no inheritance. Yes. I know what you are."  
  
Rebekah laughed, her harsh voice echoing throughout the room. "I'm a whore."  
  
"Well, yes, that too. You should have asked for a priest long ago, child. Your life may have been the better for it."  
  
"And you should have paid me a visit before today, father. Your life may have been more interesting because of it," she shot back.  
  
"Are you prepared now to renounce Satan and beg God his forgiveness?"  
  
Rebekah laughed; a deep guttural laugh that caused the nuns to back away from her. "God never did anything for me."  
  
"Leave us," the priest motioned to the sisters. He walked over to the doctor, who was still sitting at her bedside. "You can't save her life - perhaps I can still save her soul."  
  
Rebekah watched as the doctor got up and walked out of the room. "My soul is well past saving. Let the devil take me if he'll have me. Either way - I die."  
  
"No." The priest whispered, as he moved closer to the bed. He carefully removed his hood, allowing her to look upon his features. "You will not die. You will be reborn."  
  
She looked up at his inhuman face without flinching. "I know you."  
  
The thing grabbed her hand, holding her palm in its cold wrinkled one. "I came to you last night. I sang to you from that window."  
  
Rebekah shook her head. "Hmm, I remember now. You're death?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What then?" she asked, confused.  
  
The vampire smiled, showing her its teeth. "I am the Master, and your savior. God never did anything for you - but I will."  
  
Rebekah bit down on her lips, drawing blood, as she felt the vampire sink its teeth into her neck. He tore through her skin easily as he greedily drank at her life's force. The feeling of pain that pervaded her body faded, as numbness spread through her limbs. She could hear her slowing heartbeat, its sound beating loudly in her ears.  
  
He removed his teeth from her neck, and smiled down at the barely breathing girl. "No dying, my sweet," he whispered, pulling her head up to his. His lips kissed hers gently; she could feel him lap the blood that had formed on her lips. She watched as he held out his wrist, and raked his long black nails against it, causing a thin trickle of blood to form. Without thinking, she brought her mouth up to it and clenched her teeth down, ignoring the taste of his salty skin.  
  
"Drink from me, and live forever!"  
  
The red fluid poured from his wrist and into her mouth, going down easily. The warmth of the liquid sent a deep spasm through her veins, as her body began to burn from its poison.  
  
"Drink, my child. Drink." the Master laughed. "When you are finished, you will be reborn, and join me in the Shadows that will rule the world. Together we will stand and raise Hell on Earth, and darkness shall cover this place and wipe out the pestilence that walks upon it." 


End file.
